Ardent Eyes
by Davey-kun
Summary: *Shounen-Ai* A short vignette about how a midnight journalling session proves to unearth long-lost memories of a certain dragoned individual.


_Ardent Eyes_

Author's Note:   
Rated PG-13 for angst and shounen-ai content.   
  


To the outside viewer, life was calm. The sun had long since set, and the commoners of the Kingdom were in their homes, nestled alongside their loved ones, animals, or maybe alongside nothing at all. But they were nestled, mind you, on a typically humid summer Expellian night. In fact, they probably were well into sleep as well as nestled. To the outside viewer, not a light was on, even from the castle. A little moving around, however, disproved this statement; a wayward soul was awake in the Kingdom Hotel, a candle casting the room in liquid orange and yellow spectrum.

I'm up late again. I always **have** been an insomniac. Maybe that's why my fighting skills are beginning to suffer….

Deaf to ones outside the familiar warmth of wakefulness, scribbles of pointed and inked quill against parchment went inaudible to those more than a meter away from the writer. Adding a few closing thoughts to the diary entry, the weaver of words shut the leather-bound book with a crisp snap, and two very different sets of eyes blinked into consciousness closely—too closely—behind. A red head growled disapprovingly at the other and snapped swiftly; the blue one had been sleeping all over him again, and red scales were on the spot where he'd lain, ripped free. 

"Gyoro, if you don't like your scales being torn off, stop fighting Ururun _before_ you sleep?" 

Gyoro, the flame-colored one, drooped his head on a shoulder of brunette hair. The writer always used his left hand when petting the dragons, and wrote with the other. Being ambidextrous did have its perks. Ururun liked being petted more, anyway, which was easier since Ururun was on the appropriate side. Regardless, he petted Gyoro, never judging anyone. 

Gazing at his watch, a handy little tool he'd gotten in Nede—no, in moments past, he corrected—the author sighed dismally as he realized he wouldn't be able to wake until logn after sunrise, again. The two looked at each other contemplatively, as they always did when he sighed. He'd been doing that a little too much lately. And while he did sigh often enough, it now increased to at least once every few moments; the dragons knew. 

Feeling that his eyes were not even borderline droopy, he was overcome with a sudden spontaneity, and reopened the leather diary that had yet to even be clasped, beginning to read at the top of the first page, as one so often does when reading.

**Ashton Anchors**

Since I never have a way to channel my energy other than fighting (which'll probably be over soon anyway), I decided to start this journal, which I purchased in Central City. Do you ever notice—

Ashton stopped reading, flipping a few random pages of the sheepskin paper, and began reading halfway down the page. This entry was from another time, another place; a moment millions of stars away.

Good goddess Tria…. We visited Armlock today, and I invited Claude into this restaurant so we could talk. It wasn't supposed to be anything major, just a nice little friendly outing…. I think it was called "Yamato-Ya"… and he ordered the "Heartthrob"…. They only brought us one drink, and two straws…. I thought it was some cruel trick of fate, because goddess knows how much I love him and wanted it to be real….

The leather snap could be heard again as the dragoned one closed the diary quickly, blocking out the memory. Claude had joked about how Ashton "turned the most delightful shade of red", but he doubted the blond enigma that was Claude Kenni actually knew how much he felt for him, and Ashton was _sure_ that the blond didn't know at all about his preferrence. The thing with Precis was really nothing more than a very kindred bond, and would never be romantic in nature. It lasted about a month, but nothing happened. They broke up when Expel was restored and when the group returned, back from that orb of angsty regret and longing nostalgia with the convenient title of "planet". 

They all stayed together for a while on Expel before gradually returning to their own lives—Rena and Dias, opting for peace and quiet and hopefully making up years of lost time together, returned to Arlia, although Dias was very hesitant; Claude and Celine, liking big-city life, moved to Lacour, sharing a home; Ashton, growing distant, found solace in middle-class life and moved appropriately to Cross Kingdom; Leon, where else, returned to his laboratory in Lacour Castle to pick up his parents' work; Noel, with help from Rena and Dias, built a quaint little cabin in Shingo Forest; Precis returned with Bowman to Linga, Bowman going to his wife and Precis her father; last, Chisato also came to Lacour, helping advance technology with her extensive knowledge of Nede thanks to her in-depth hacking of the library in North City, also created the first Expellian newspaper, the Lacour Shield. 

Ashton blinked, stirring again from memories. Now he really _was_ tired, although he doubted he'd ever get to sleep now that he'd successfully gotten Claude on the brain. "How could _anyone_ not like him? It's damn near impossible!" Ashton, always the eccentric one, spoke aloud often. 

_I have to tell him sometime,_ Ashton thought, _but when?_ He obviously couldn't go tomorrow, since he'd be sleeping practically all day. Deciding the best course of action would be in two days' time, Ashton lay back in his bed, suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. He just couldn't bring himself to tell Claude. These feelings had been harboring since they met, and the thought of losing him as a friend made Ashton even more distraught. Not even bothering to expend energy by getting up and dousing the candle, the room of liquid orange and yellow gradually turned to black, two eyelids shutting it out slowly. 


End file.
